Post-War Living
by wastefulchild
Summary: Hermione is broken, having lost both her love and one of her closest friends in the brutal Hogwarts Battle. When a misunderstanding isolates her from the few loved ones she has left, how will she carry on? She is ill equipped to handle a pregnancy, let alone a magical child, on her own in the world. This is the story of Hermione's life, learning to fight without her wand. AU
1. Chapter 1

Hermione was so, so glad to be back at Grimmauld place – which was certainly something she'd never expected to feel. Standing in the doorway appreciating that fact was a bad idea, however, as she was almost immediately shoved unceremoniously out of the way by Harry.

"God, Hermione, I can't believe I'm back here, after everything." She looked at him closely, seeing him clearly for the first time since the battle had broken out just a few hours before. He was covered in small cuts, blood and grime, twigs and stone dust in his hair. She couldn't imagine she looked any better. God, her hair was going to be an absolute nightmare. "I know, Harry. But we're back, and V-Voldemort is gone, and.. And nobody else is going to leave us, now." She replied, almost unable to speak through her suddenly tight throat. "I'm going to bed now, I think. I'm sorry, I just.. I really can't do this right now. I'll see you in a few hours." He looked at her, barely seeing her through the muddle of thoughts written so clearly on his broken-hearted face, and she couldn't stand it any more, seeing Harry's face without Ron standing beside and a little bit behind, poking his head out to grin, or stick his tongue out, or shake his red hair out of his eyes. So she did something she thought she'd never, ever do – she ran from Harry. From her best remaining friend. From the reminder of all she'd sacrificed in the truly awful war.

She collapsed on the bed, not even taking the time to kick off her shoes, and was unconscious almost before Harry had registered her fleeing.


	2. Chapter One: Turning Tides

As Harry stood in the shower, water running grey with grime, he fumed. How could she leave him now? He needed to talk to someone! She was supposed to care! She'd always put him first, and now he was second fiddle? He'd just defeated Voldemort and lost his Godfather and best friend. How DARE she?! He left the shower and dressed quickly, knowing where to go for a sympathetic ear and creature comforts.

He didn't give a thought about how the witch sleeping on the floor above him might be feeling. After all, he'd lost more than her. Hadn't he?

Hermione awoke to the midday sun streaming across her face. 'Well, at least I got a good few hours in,' she thought to herself, knowing that sleep would come increasingly rarely in the near future. War trauma and loss would see to that. As she heaved her aching body toward the shower, her thoughts turned as always to the battle they had fought the previous night. For something that only took three and a half hours, it was surely world changing. After all, how many times was a Dark Lord killed for good? How many times would scores of good men be mown down, like freshly cut wheat? She shuddered, trying not to feel the warm blood of her fiancé rushing down her as she tried desperately to save him. Suddenly, the shower seemed much too warm, too much like blood, all over her body, her face, her hair – she savagely turned the faucet to cold, and endured to freezing water long enough to thoroughly clean herself.

As she stepped out of the shower she stared at the full-length mirror in front of her. She was clean, at least, and no longer had the thin coating of dirt that seemed ever-present while on the run for so many years. At twenty-one, she was thinner than she'd ever been. She was scared to weigh herself, she didn't want to know how truly frail she was now. She looked like a skeleton. Skin and bones and tendons, pale as the dead and covered in a fine tracery of blue veins. Except her stomach, of course - she'd had a meal before she arrived at Grimmauld, more than a few hours ago, and it was still bloating her stomach, making a small bump appear. She'd make sure she ate well, for a few months at least – Sirius had made her promise that, promise she wouldn't wither away once he was gone. Made her swear on her magic, and that was the only thing worth living for, these days. After all, hadn't she sacrificed it all so people like her could go on practicing the craft?

God, to go back to the days when she, Harry and Ron had first left, on the run. Three teenagers with a tent and some books, sure they could defeat Voldemort. She'd give anything to feel so optimistic again.. Or to feel anything, really. Everything was just rather numb, in a painful kind of way.

She sighed, turning away from the dreadful sight, pulling some clean clothes out of her beaded bag. Dressing quickly, she made her way down the stairs, hoping to find Harry there. However it seemed like he'd gone out. She wondered where he'd gone, and then almost smiled – of course she knew where he was. She grabbed a handful of floo powder from the mantelpiece and threw it onto the still smouldering coals, clearly saying "The Burrow". The roaring of flames surrounded her and she spun away from the grim old place.

She arrived in the kitchen, stumbling and nearly falling. She was glad she hadn't fallen, as she was so covered in bruises she wasn't sure she'd have been able to stop herself from crying – and she knew that once she started crying, she wouldn't stop until she'd wrung every drop of saltwater out of her body.

"Hermione? That you?" called Harry's voice from the dining room. Glad to hear him, even if he did sound cold and rather put off, she called out, "Yes, Harry, it's me. Prongs stomps on rats and bites, on long, cold moonlit nights." She, Ron and Harry had put together a group of phrases, meant to make them laugh, or at the very least, smile when in dire situations and needing confirmation of identity. She sighed in relief when she walked into the lounge and saw Harry replying, "And Moony bites for fun, until he sees the sun."

She looked at the scene before her, suddenly realising that everyone there seemed very hostile toward her. Instead of running – and she wanted to, so badly, she felt so ill at ease – she asked to speak to Harry in private.

"I'm so sorry for running off last night, Harry. I just couldn't deal with everything. I know you needed me and I let you down. Please, will you forgive me?" He looked at her strangely, almost coldly, replying "I can't believe you'd do that to me, Hermione. I lost so much last night. I know you lost Ron, but I lost Sirius and Tonks as well! How could you be so selfish?" She looked at him, confusion burning through her. Since when was Harry so nasty? Well, she thought, he has lost a lot of people who meant so much to him.. I'm sure he'll realise in time that I am grieving too, just as much if not more than he is. I'll be the bigger person now though – I just want my friend back. "I know, Harry, I realise that now. It's why I'm here. Please, forgive me?" It took a few seconds, but his face lost the icy touch and he took Hermione's hand to lead her back to the dining room, Hermione smiling all the way. She just knew that their friendship would be resilient, especially now, when they were all so desperately sad.

She'd come back from the Burrow shortly after Harry had told the Weasleys that Hermione had apologised. Mrs Weasley especially had seemed to still be rather peeved with her, but then, she'd never liked Hermione much. After all, there had to be a grain of truth for the reporters to write about, didn't there? The girl, while polite, was obviously not to be trusted.

Remus was waiting in the sitting room when Hermione flooed back home. She got the fright of her life, and it was only his enhanced reflexes that saved him from being a rather bubbly puddle on the floor.

"God, Hermione, are you okay?" And with that kind question, she collapsed into his arms, sobbing her heart out.


	3. Chapter Three: Ups and Downs

_AN:_

_Thanks to everyone who's read or favourited my work. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update, my little one is a bit ill right now, but I'll try and update regularly. Review if you like, I'd most certainly appreciate it. Enjoy the second chapter!_

After Remus had held her through her grief, he sat her up and turned to look at the waif next to him on the dilapidated couch. "Hermione.. Were you and Sirius..?" She looked at him, brokenly replying in a voice hoarse from hours of sobbing. "We were engaged, Remus. We were going to tell everyone we were together after the Battle. But now I can't do it, I can't deal with the pity and the looks from everyone. I just want to be left alone in this for a time. Will you keep this secret for me?" He truly looked at her, saw the shattered remnants of bravery and courage in her eyes, and sighed, knowing he'd take her secret to the grave if it let the girl he so respected find some peace.

oooooooooo

Looking back, Hermione had no idea how she got through those first two weeks. She was an empty shell, sleeping, eating and staring out the window by the entrance, waiting for Sirius to come back. He'd done it once before, he could do it again. He had to. She couldn't bear to live without him, not after he'd shown her how to truly breathe again after years of running, fighting, killing.

_Hermione, Harry and Ron were in the Forest of Awry, desperately trying to find a way to destroy the locket and cup that had been with them for over a year. They knew that with every day, Voldemort grew stronger and the Order grew weaker. After the raging fight between them all, months ago, Ron had refused to leave without Hermione, and Hermione had managed to get him to stay long enough to get the locket off from around his neck and get some food into him. He'd apologised of course, but Harry was still not quite as friendly as he had been, snapping more often and taking out his frustrations on the two who shared the tent with him._

_Harry seemed to spend his days looking into a sliver of mirror, all that remained of the two-way set that Sirius had given Harry so long ago. It was coming up to the third anniversary of his death and all three eighteen year olds were quieter than usual. Ron played chess matches against himself, silencing the board so as not to disturb the awful silence. Hermione threw herself into research, reading and re-reading every book in her possession. And Harry kept looking and looking, although none of them were sure what he was searching for, in the sparkling shard of glass._

_On the eve of the anniversary they'd all been avoiding mentioning, just as they were sitting down to eat the sparse pickings that were dinner, they froze, looking wide-eyed at each other. "Surely it can't be..?" whispered Hermione, fear in her gaze at the sound of a dead man's voice. Harry got up and sprinted to his bed, where he'd left the mirror facing down. When he got there, he hesitated, unable to bear it if- and then they heard it again. "Oi, you three, you there?!"_

_He flipped the mirror over, holding it up, and suddenly there he was – renegade, dark haired, gaunt Sirius Black looking exactly the same as Hermione remembered. _

They had all been so shocked when he mirror-called them. Hermione, being herself, had immediately demanded and explanation. Sirius had told them that while he didn't fully understand it himself, it seemed that the Veil was, originally, used as an executioner's tool. And while Sirius had commited plenty of sins, the Veil had judged him punished enough by Azkaban and spat him out, after a few moments. Sirius was as shocked as anyone else to find it had been three years exactly. Time seemed to move differently, there.

After that, they had all three gone into deep discussion and decided that Sirius would be joining them. After all, he was Harry's godfather – and, as Hermione had pointed out, from a dark family and would undoubtedly be of great help in their quest to destroy the horcuxes they had. Who but the Blacks would have such arcane and dark knowledge?

They had polyjuiced themselves and picked up Sirius without the rest of the Order being any the wiser. After all, if Molly Weasley knew they had allowed Sirius to join them but not her or Arthur... She shuddered. The repercussions had not been pretty, when she eventually did. Sirius had been of immense help to them, promptly disclosing that basilisk venom was likely the safest option. He'd already started making plans to breed one to kill when Harry succeeded in shocking him into silence, which was something noteworthy in itself. It seemed Sirius had never known about many of their escapades.

They had taken a night to tell Sirius all that he'd missed, both in Azkaban and the Veil. As the stories all seemed to have Hermione as the voice of reason, and the girl who saved her boy's arses, Sirius's gaze grew more appreciative. He'd looked at her, thinking that while she could gain to put on a few pounds, she was really very beautiful. She'd grown into her hair, and no longer had the gangly look of a young teenager. As the weeks drew on with planning, research and even a little laughter, he found himself smitten.


End file.
